The Phantom Nightmare
by SarahtheBardess
Summary: Ch. 3. A blond and reluctant Phantom battles a blackhaired Raoul for the hand of the redheaded Christine. Come see the fun as Hogwarts puts on The Phantom of the Opera, and Draco learns about himself. Sequel to Draco's Nightmare.
1. Overture

(Disclaimer disclaimer, yadda yadda, if you recognize it from somewhere else it's not mine. And I recommend reading "Draco's Nightmare" before you read this, if you haven't already – it's a 3000-word one-shot, so it shouldn't take you too long. Have fun!)

**The Phantom Nightmare**

A knock sounded on the door of Severus Snape's office.

"Enter."

"You wanted to see me, sir."

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. Sit down."

Draco Malfoy sat in one of the chairs in front of Snape's desk and looked a trifle nervously at his Head of House. "Have I done something, sir?"

"No, Mr. Malfoy, it is what you appear not to have done that has caused me to summon you here."

"Sir?"

"Mr. Malfoy, I shall be blunt. You look as if you haven't slept for a week."

The boy winced. "I'm fine, sir."

"You are not. I have here – " Snape pointed to a stack of parchment. "Five separate complaints from your teachers about you sleeping in class, and one note from the captain of the Quidditch team about you falling asleep on your broom at practice. Now, if this is some kind of health problem, a result of that concussion you sustained last month…"

"No!"

Snape was taken mildly aback by the strength of the boy's reaction. "No?"

Malfoy went slightly pink. "No, sir. It's nothing to do with that. Just…" He looked away from Snape for a moment. "Just bad dreams, sir."

_Bad dreams. This sounds like something I'd expect to hear from Potter. What's gotten into him? _"Have you asked Madame Pomfrey for a potion for dreamless sleep?"

"Sir, I can handle this."

"Obviously not, Mr. Malfoy. It is beginning to have an adverse effect on your schoolwork. Wait here." Snape went into his private storeroom and pulled out a bottle of Dreamless Sleep Potion. Returning to his office, he placed the bottle on the desk. "The cap acts as a measuring cup, Mr. Malfoy. Take one dose before you go to bed."

The boy looked torn. His hand actually started forward to take the bottle before he pulled it back. "Sir, I – the dreams – they're – " He licked his lips. "Well, they're not so much bad as they are just… strange, and I…" His voice had a quality of pleading in it that Snape had never heard, or expected to hear, from the arrogant Malfoy heir. "I want to see what happens next."

"And yet, the dreams disturb you so much that you apparently cannot sleep enough at night to avoid falling asleep in inappropriate places during the day." Snape looked hard at the boy. "Mr. Malfoy, what are these dreams about?"

Malfoy avoided Snape's eyes, staring instead at the wall behind him. "A woman," he said quietly. "A woman dressed in white. Veiled. She has something. It's white, and shaped like half a face, and she wants me to take it and do something with it. And I don't know if I want to or not, because I know if I do, I'll change. Something will change me. And every night that I don't take it, she shows me something."

"What does she show you?"

The boy was sweating now, as if telling this was a strain. "Bits and pieces of someone's life. Like a play, but I know it's real. Or it could be – it could have been – it might be somewhere else – I don't know!"

"Whose life does she show you?"

Malfoy's eyes closed, and to Snape's utter astonishment, he saw a tear emerge from between the lids. "Mine," the boy said quietly. "Only it's not me. It's someone who could have been me. Or I could have been him, if things had happened differently. Sir – " Malfoy looked at him with a sudden, desperate hope in his eyes. "You asked me about the Quidditch match where I got concussed. Do you remember how I acted after I woke up the first time?"

"Yes, of course." _I am unlikely to forget. You were quite rude, and almost completely incomprehensible._

"Sir – I don't. Because I wasn't here. I was… I don't know where I was, but it wasn't here. It was Hogwarts, but things were… different. I had a different name, and a different life – I was a _Gryffindor_, for Merlin's sake!"

"I do recall you telling some tale about a dream you had while you were unconscious. I assume this is it."

"Yes, sir. But it wasn't a dream – it can't have been – because the other boy, the other Draco – he came _here_. He was the one who was rude to you, not me. Did he tell you not to call him a Malfoy?"

"He did." _If you are not making this up._

"I went to see you, while I was there, sir. In the other Hogwarts. And you – your counterpart, I guess – told me that I had been taken away from my parents when I was four, and raised by someone else." Malfoy looked at the floor. "He didn't say who, but I think I know, now."

"Indeed." Snape was, in spite of himself, interested. "Will you deign to divulge that information?"

Malfoy blushed again and mumbled something.

_I cannot have heard what I thought I heard. _"Speak up, boy."

"Sirius Black," Malfoy said, just loud enough to be heard.

_Well, it seems I can._ Snape leaned back in his chair, trying to be at ease. "You know perfectly well that is impossible. Sirius Black was in Azkaban when you were four."

The boy shook his head. "Not in that world. I've seen it. I watched him escape, with a friend helping him. I saw him get married, and have a baby, and take me home with him, and…" He broke off. "I'm not making any sense, am I?"

"Not much, Mr. Malfoy. And all this fails to explain why your – counterpart – would not wish to be called by his name."

"But it isn't his name, sir. His name is Black. Draco Black." Malfoy's eyes squeezed shut again, and his whole face contorted as if in pain. "And he's happy. He's happy as a Gryffindor. He's happy as Harry Potter's bloody brother!"

"Harry Potter's brother," Snape repeated in tones of wonder.

"_And_ Hermione Granger's," Malfoy said, as if unburdening himself of all of his bad news at once. He gave a slightly hysterical smile. "No, wait, Granger-Lupin. That's her name there. And he's friends with the Weasleys, and Longbottom, and…" He made a noise that, in anyone else, Snape would have called a giggle. "He's in love with Luna Lovegood."

_This explains a great deal. Not, of course, how such an insane thing could have happened, since it obviously could not have…_ "So, you see what you consider to be a possible alternate life in these dreams, and they disturb you so much that you cannot sleep. Is this correct?"

Malfoy nodded, staring at the floor.

"Mr. Malfoy, as your Head of House, I am ordering you to take this potion tonight. In fact, I am ordering you to the hospital wing, for a day or two of bed rest. Give Madame Pomfrey this note – " Snape scribbled a few lines on a piece of parchment, telling the nurse that Malfoy had been sleeping badly and needed at least a night and a day to recover. "And I do not wish to see you again until you no longer look like a cross between a vampire and a walking corpse."

Malfoy smiled lopsidedly. "Yes, sir." He picked up the bottle of potion and headed for the door.

"Oh, and Mr. Malfoy."

"Yes, sir?"

Snape sighed. "Do remember that dreams are only that – dreams. They are not real."

"Yes, sir." And Malfoy was gone.

_That sounded properly inane. But what can I tell him? Not to be disturbed, when he so obviously is? No wonder, of course – if I had dreamed of seeing myself friendly with James Potter and Sirius Black – their brother, even, Merlin forbid – I might well be disturbed by it._

_The potion will help him. I have never known it to fail._

Comforted by that thought, Severus Snape returned to his work.

* * *

Madame Pomfrey bustled about the hospital wing, setting up screens around the bed she assigned Draco, Summoning his pajamas from his dormitory, and checking on the potion Snape had sent with him – "Not that I doubt Severus, but it's always a good idea to double-check" – until Draco wanted to scream. 

Finally, she poured him out a generous dose and left him alone.

_Thought she'd never leave. At least she trusts me to take it by myself._

Draco picked up the cup of potion, stared into it, and felt a sudden surge of rebellion.

_Why should I keep trying to deny this? These dreams are trying to tell me something. Why don't I just listen?_

His bare feet noiseless on the stone floor, he made his way over to the shelves holding Madame Pomfrey's most commonly used potions. It was the work of a moment to find the Reversing Potion he wanted.

_The red one, not the blue. The blue would give me the Dreamless part without the Sleep – make me lie there awake, but not thinking of anything – and that's NOT what I want. _

_The red potion. There. _He pulled it down.

_This will reverse the Dreamless part of the potion. So it will still make me sleep, but now I'll be more open than usual to dreams._

Carefully, he added three drops to his goblet and swirled the mixture, watching it change color.

_Raspberry red. Seems appropriate, considering what I'm hoping to dream of._

Returning the Reversing Potion to its place, he went back to his bed and sat down on it.

_Hoping to dream of being a Gryffindor. That's insane._

_But no more insane than the rest of this. Maybe, if I just take whatever the thing is the woman's trying to give me, I can finally get this over with._

Defiantly, he lifted the cup and drank the potion in three long gulps. _Here's to you, Draco Black. _

It worked quickly. He barely had time to swing his legs into bed, lie down, and pull the sheets up before he felt his eyes close –

And open again, onto a scene of swirling fog, where he stood in the only clear patch.

_That didn't take long._

"There you are," said a woman's voice. Draco turned toward the voice and saw what he expected – the mysterious, veiled feminine shape, all in white, holding some kind of strange object. "Are you all right?"

"Are you real?" Draco asked instead of answering. _Answer questions with questions. Keep her off guard._

The woman laughed, a strangely familiar sound. "I'm as real as you are."

"No, you're not. I'm real, this is my dream. You're just a figment in it."

"No, this is our dream, yours and mine both. We share it. I created this dream-place for you to come, so that you could learn what you want to learn."

"And what, in your opinion, is that?" Draco sneered.

The woman whistled, and a small bark answered her. More like a yap, really, Draco thought. A small, white fox came trotting through the fog to the woman's side, to stand next to her and regard him with wise gray eyes.

_Gray?_

Draco gulped. He knew those eyes. He saw them every day.

In the mirror.

Without warning, the fox was gone, and a blond, handsome – and very familiar – young man stood beside the woman. "You want to know more about me," he said, in a pleasant tenor voice. "About who I am, and how I got that way. Because you know perfectly well that we started out the same, and that either of us could have been the other one, if things had turned out differently."

Draco Malfoy stared at Draco Black and was, for once, completely without an answer.

The woman held up the strange object she carried. Suddenly Draco realized what it was. "A mask!" he blurted. _But it's all cut off… as if someone had something they wanted to hide on just one side of their face…_

"Not just any mask," Black said. "It's yours."

"Mine?"

"Well, it could be," Black amended. "If you take it."

"Put on the mask, Draco," said the woman in a tone that seemed a cross between command and entreaty. "Put on the mask, and learn how to take it off."

"What?"

"You wear a mask every day of your life," Black said. "So do we all. But yours is harder and thicker than most, and you've been wearing it so long you may have forgotten it even is one."

"I don't understand."

"Your arrogance," the woman said, taking a step towards him. "Your indifference. Your cruelty and snobbishness." Each quality she named brought her a step closer. "Your calculated rudeness and sarcasm. You hide behind them so that others will think you are sophisticated. You have no one to whom you can take off your mask. And if you wear it much longer, it will no longer be a mask, but your true face."

"It happened to your father," Black said flatly. "For him, it is too late. But there is still hope for you. Not much, but some. Take the mask. Take the chance. Learn who you are, and become more."

The woman held it out to him. "Put it on," she said quietly. "Trust us. There may be pain, but so there is pain in all of life. And there will be also excitement, and joy, and wonder."

"And music," Black added from behind her. "Haven't you ever been curious about music?"

_He had to put that in, didn't he._ Music was Draco's secret love. His father had, grudgingly, allowed him to attend concerts, but he had never been allowed to learn to play an instrument, or, Merlin forbid, sing. It wasn't proper. It wasn't dignified.

But it was what he wanted.

Draco Malfoy stretched out his hand and took the mask. He regarded it for a moment, with its one eyehole, half the nose outlined, and the graceful curve across the cheek, leaving the mouth free. Then he turned it around and lifted it to his face.

It fit as if made for him. And it clung.

A burst of music, _loud_ music, made him gasp, as the woman and Black vanished in a blast of wind. In their place stood a tall, gilt-edged mirror. He stared at his masked reflection.

_Damn, I look good in this thing…_

The wind blew his hair back as chords and drumbeats crashed around him – and his clothes were beginning to change –

He wore black, all black, with a cape which billowed in the wind as the organ played on, variations on the original theme of five notes up and five down –

Another face swam up from the depths of the mirror. A girl, a beautiful girl, with her long hair streaming fire-like out behind her – he should know her name, but it was lost in the music, in the melody the organ had finally gotten to after improvising on chords for almost a minute.

He stretched out his hand and took hers as she stepped out of the mirror into reality – into _his_ reality – for she was his, now, and he would never let her go. Right hands palm to palm, they circled each other in the stately measures of a courtly dance, her eyes sometimes cast down to the hem of her white gown, sometimes raised to his, showing a strange mixture of fear and adoration.

_Exactly as it should be. She is mine – my creation, my angel – _

_What am I thinking? This is insane!_

But the music continued, and Draco was unable to tear himself away.

It changed suddenly – the theme the organ had been playing alone was taken up by an entire orchestra – and the girl broke from him, running into the arms of a man who emerged from the fog, hair windblown, naked sword in hand.

_Him. He dares come here – he dares invade even my dreams!_

Draco pulled the sword he only now realized was sheathed at his waist and struck at his rival, who parried adeptly. The game was on. They battled furiously, swords ringing in a strange percussion to the music, as the girl watched in horror, seemingly not sure which was her champion, which her enemy.

The original theme of chords returned, and the girl made up her mind – she leapt between them, forcing them both to stop, and pleaded silently for Draco to run, to run far away, to save himself –

And to escape the sight of her clinging to _him_, Draco dropped his sword, turned, and ran, as the music –

Stopped.

The fog hid the two from his sight. He was alone, in silence.

Tentatively, he raised his hand to his face and lifted away the mask.

_Uh, no. No way. Not happening. Not going to happen. No. _

_I don't even _like_ her. She's a blood traitor. _He_ can have her._

"So what was that supposed to be about?" he asked in frustration. "Some kind of repressed thing I have for the Weasley girl? Because I don't. And I already knew I hated Potter. If that's all this was about, it's pretty lame."

"It's not," the veiled woman said, emerging once more from the fog. She held out her hand for the mask, which he gladly gave her. "It's about this." She held it up. "While you wore it, you surrendered yourself to it. You allowed yourself to be free, to do and think things you ordinarily never would. That is the power of the mask. Remember it. And remember, also, that taking off a mask can be as effective as putting one on."

"And if you're wondering where the mask and the music come from," Black said, appearing beside the woman, "I can show you that. Do you want to see?"

Draco nodded, and abruptly the fog cleared.

He was standing in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but he had never seen it like this. What was usually the teachers' dais was now a huge, red-curtained stage. The tables had been replaced with rows of cushioned seats, where hundreds of witches and wizards, both students and adults, were sitting and talking excitedly.

"What are you doing out here?" an irritable voice asked him. He turned to see Hermione Granger, dressed in an old-fashioned Muggle gown, glaring at him. "You're not even made-up! Get backstage, we're less than ten minutes from curtain!"

"All right," Draco said bemusedly, letting himself be bustled away. _Whose world is this, anyway – mine or Black's?_

His doubts vanished within the next few seconds, as Black's little sister Meghan opened the stage door for them. "Get in here," she hissed at him. "I have to fix your face."

_Black, you sod,_ Draco thought in sudden panic. _I have no idea what to do!_

_Just relax,_ the answer came back to him. _The lines will come if you don't panic. You knew what to do back there, didn't you?_

_Yes, but I didn't have to talk! And – this is a musical, isn't it? Do I have to _sing?!

_Are you kidding? You have the title role! Of course you have to sing!_ Mentally, he heard Black chuckle. _Don't worry, you'll like it. It's a great show._

_Yes, but _what is it?!

Meghan hunted around on the overcrowded dressing room table for something. "Hold this," she said, shoving a piece of paper into Draco's hands.

It was a program.

_**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry presents**_

_**Andrew Lloyd Webber's**_

_**The Phantom of the Opera**_

Draco closed his eyes. _I'm dead._

_Funny,_ Black commented. _You'd think you'd have stopped walking around._

Draco snarled silently. _Have you no shame? Stealing lines from _Potter?

_Shame, what's that?_

_Shut up._

Meghan went to work with some kind of goop, smearing it on the side of Draco's face. Somewhere in the near distance, he could hear an orchestra tuning up.

"Five minutes!" called Ron Weasley's voice. "Five minutes to curtain!"

"Five minutes, thank you!" Meghan shouted back.

Ready or not, Draco Malfoy was going to be in a show.

* * *

(A/N: Me and my random inspirations... 

I wrote the section describing Draco's dream-scene with Harry and Ginny (from "A burst of music" to "Stopped.") to fit the timing of the Overture of _The Phantom of the Opera_. The version I have is 2:08 on the CD, and if I read that section aloud with a fair speaking tempo, the music changes where the words say it does. At least it works that way for me. If you happen to be a theater buff and have the Overture handy, give it a try and let me know if it works!

For "Draco's Nightmare" readers, Meghan Black is the younger girl Draco didn't know in the hospital wing scene, the third-year that Snape referred to as Draco's sister. She came by her last name in the normal way, and her parents are in the audience tonight. Just so you know.

Oh yes, and if you liked it, review it and let me know – because I have two other stories going and one I should start soon, so I won't continue this unless people want me to!)


	2. Skipping Ahead

Chapter 2: Skipping Ahead

After dinner was Severus Snape's free time, the one portion of the day when he was neither teaching nor working. Usually, he spent it in his office anyway, reading or doing potions investigations. Today, though, he found his feet taking him towards the hospital wing.

_Honestly, Severus, do show some common sense. Poppy Pomfrey will have taken care of the boy, and he will be asleep by now, which means that neither he nor you will derive anything of value from you coming to visit him._

By the time he had come to this conclusion, however, he was already most of the way there.

_Very well. I will look at him, feel stupid and sentimental for a moment, and return to my work._

Poppy looked up at his footsteps, quiet as they were. "Hello, Severus, come to see Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes," Severus said, feeling like a fool already for admitting it. "I assume he is asleep."

"Indeed. I took a quick look at him about ten minutes after he came in – the potion had already taken effect, of course, he was fast asleep – so I've left him alone since then. The bed at the end of the ward, the screened one."

"Thank you." Severus walked quickly down the aisle between the beds and around the screen.

Draco Malfoy lay in the bed, covers pulled up around him, eyes closed. The cup that had held his potion sat on the small table beside the bed. Something about the drops of potion left in the cup looked vaguely wrong, Severus noted.

But something about Malfoy looked far more wrong. His eyes were moving underneath their lids. If Severus remembered correctly, that was a sign of dreaming, something the young man should not be doing…

"Poppy," he called quietly. Madame Pomfrey was there in a moment. "Did you by any chance alter the potion I sent with Mr. Malfoy?"

"No, of course not, why would you – oh my!" Her nurse's eyes noticed in an instant what Severus had taken a bit longer to see. "Whatever could have caused that?"

Severus looked again at the goblet holding the dregs of potion. _It is the wrong color. That is what caught my eye._ Delicately, he dipped the tip of one finger into the potion and tasted it.

_Reversed. Reversed, so as to induce dream-filled rather than dreamless sleep. I could not have done better myself. _

_And Draco, one of my most promising students ever, would have noticed had someone done this to him. The only logical conclusion is that he did it to himself._

_But why?_

"How is he?" Severus asked, surprised by something in his voice. It sounded like concern. But that was normal, he told himself – he should be concerned about a member of his House, a student under his care…

"In no danger," Poppy said absently, taking Draco's pulse, "but in quite a deep sleep. No surprise. I assume the potion was altered?"

"Indeed, and by Mr. Malfoy himself, I would assume. I suggest you check your stocks of Reversing Potion."

"Reversing Potion. Yes, that would explain it." Poppy looked up at him. "You said, in your note, that he had been having trouble sleeping. Are his dreams troubling him?"

"I believe so."

"Well, troubling or not, he's trapped in them now. There's nothing I can do – he'll have to sleep himself out. And I dosed him to sleep until tomorrow morning. So if he's been having nightmares, he's condemned himself to a full night of them." Her face was a mixture of worry and exasperation. "Idiot."

_I concur,_ Snape thought, but very carefully did not say it aloud.

* * *

Draco Malfoy sat still and endured Meghan Black's skillful transformation of his face. He wanted to run, but knew it wouldn't do him any good – this was, after all, a dream. And not one he was in charge of. 

_I hate you,_ he thought towards Draco Black, wherever the little sod was.

**_This is something new?_** Black's voice answered cheerfully.

_I really hate you._

_**I'd gotten that impression.**_

_I really, really – _

**_Have no imagination? _**Black interrupted.

_Did NOT ask for this,_ Draco finished firmly.

_**Oh? Who doctored that potion again? Wasn't me.**_

_Shut up._

Someone knocked on the dressing room door.

"Come in!" Meghan called.

The door opened. Draco saw a made-up face appear over a rather interestingly scanty costume. "Someone looks good tonight," he said appreciatively.

Then he got a better look at the features on the face and almost screamed.

_I just complimented _Lovegood?

**_Ah, why don't we just skip this part,_** Black said, sounding slightly flustered, as Lovegood smiled and came all the way into the room. **_Moving on…_**

Draco blinked. Lovegood was gone, and Meghan was fussing around him.

"Messed up your _lipstick_," she was muttering. "Ruined your _hair_…"

Draco blanched. _What do you see in her?_ he demanded of Black.

**_An open mind, complete honesty, willingness to listen, and common interests. Not to mention she has quite a lot of talent in several relevant areas. _**

Draco let that one slide. _I assume she's part of this madhouse, or does she just walk around dressed like that all the time in your world?_

_**Don't I wish. No, she's playing Meg Giry, a ballet girl and a friend of Christine.**_

_Who?_

_**The female lead. Your protégée, your angel of music, your sort-of love interest – **_

_Oh, wonderful. Don't tell me. The Weasley girl._

_**Got it in one. **_

_Where does Potter come into this?_

_**He's playing the male romantic lead, Raoul, who also loves Christine, and to whom you finally give her up after she kisses you.**_

Draco closed his eyes in horror, earning a rap on the top of the head from Meghan. "Hold still!"

_No. No. Bloody hell no. I. Am. NOT. Kissing. A. Weasley._

_**Oh, don't be such a crybaby. It's just a stage kiss. And it could always be worse. **_

_HOW?_

**_You could be kissing a _male_ Weasley._**

Draco lost all powers of conscious thought for two full seconds at _that_ image.

"All done," Meghan said briskly as he regained coherency.

Draco looked in the mirror and shuddered. "Is that _me_?"

"The Phantom arises," Meghan said, picking up her wand from the table. "Hold still, I have to set it." She waved her wand around his head, and Draco felt the brush of a charm against his skin. "There, now it won't come off on the mask. Which is right here – " She handed it to him. "Get it on, we're almost to go time."

Draco regarded the mask dubiously. It looked back at him innocently with its one eyehole.

**_Fair warning,_ **Black said in his mind.** _If you don't do it, I'll just put this thing on autopilot._**

_Auto-what?_

**_Muggle term. You'll be a passenger in the body, unable to control anything. I didn't think you'd care for that – I sure as hell wouldn't – so I'm giving you the option. If you cooperate, you'll do just fine. If you don't, you'll have something like a cross between the ultimate front-row seat and the ultimate "my body isn't mine" nightmare._**

_So I get a choice between doing it on my own and getting it done to me?_

_**Inelegant, but accurate.**_

Draco hesitated one second longer. Then he turned the mask around and lifted it to his face.

It fit and clung, as it had earlier, but this time nothing else changed.

_**Nothing? Are you sure?**_

Draco looked down at himself. _Oh._ His clothes were now the jet-black ones he had worn in the earlier dream. _I meant, no music, no fog, no Potter and Weasley. _

_**No, of course not. That comes later.**_

_Great._

_**Oh, get ready…**_

_For what?_

A crash echoed in through the open door. Draco jumped. "What was that?"

"Sounds like someone tripped on something," Meghan said, turning toward the door. "Five, four, three, two…"

"Meghan!"

"Right on cue," Meghan said, making a face.

She hurried out the door. Draco watched her go, more confused than ever.

_What's with the counting?_

_**Whenever anyone gets hurt around here, someone calls for Meg. It's only a matter of time. And she's gotten good at figuring out how much time, precisely.**_

_Why?_

_**Why has she gotten good at it?**_

_No, why do they call her if someone gets hurt?_

**_Because she's a Healer-in-training._**

_Oh yeah._ There had been bits in the dreams about Meghan hanging around the hospital wing, helping Madame Pomfrey – Draco frowned. Some of those memories seemed odd, as if he wasn't quite seeing the whole picture…

_**Yeah, sorry about that. I can't tell you everything. Security issues and all.**_

_Your sister's career choice is a security issue?_

**_Yes._** The tone was flat and final.

_Why?_

Black laughed. **_Can't tell you that, either._**

Draco shook his head. _Just so you know, this makes absolutely no sense._

**_I know. Why don't you wander out in the hall and see what happened?_**

Draco delayed a moment, not wanting to go tamely where someone told him, but finally decided he had nothing better to do, and meandered out.

Just in time to see Meghan Black comfortably ensconced in the lap of Neville Longbottom, gazing adoringly into one another's eyes. And then following up on said gazes.

_Oh. Oh, that's not right. That's just… NOT right._ Draco turned away.

_**This from a guy whose girlfriend resembles a lapdog.**_

_Oh yeah? Who wants to marry the Ravenclaw owl?_

_**She's a very cute… Ravenclaw?**_

_Yes. Ravenclaw. Her House. Right?_

_**Whatever you say.** _Black sounded… unconvinced was the word Draco came up with. **_So why is it not right that my little sister and her mate are kissing?_**

_Her mate,_ Draco repeated slowly. _Please, please, please tell me that doesn't mean what it sounds like. I do not need… _that_ kind of image of Longbottom in my head. _

**_Well, someone has a dirty mind. In "normal" terms, Meghan and Neville are engaged._ **The sneer quotes were audible. **_Nothing more._**

Draco sagged in relief. _Thank you._ He looked back at the two, who were now separated, Neville heading off to the right and Meghan watching him go. _Isn't she a little young?_

**_I dare you to ask _her_ that question._**

_Er, no._ That was one memory the dreams had been very clear on. Meghan Black was quite touchy about the three-year age difference between herself and her older siblings. She had what had once been referred to as "an extreme anything-you-can-do-I-can-do-better mentality". The frightening part was how often she was right.

_**She was ticked when we got to go to Hogwarts and she had to stay home.**_

_I remember that too._ Draco smiled. _She threatened to hex my flute to make me sneeze every time I practiced if I didn't owl her every week…_

He froze.

_**Something wrong?**_

_No. Nothing. Go away._ He paused, then added, painfully,_ Please._

**_All right. I'll be back in a minute._ **

Something seemed to alter in Draco's head. He stepped quickly back into the dressing room and shut the door.

_Are you gone?_

No answer.

_Good._

Draco leaned against the door and silently recited every curse he knew. And there were quite a lot.

_I thought of _him _as _me._ I thought of his memories as my own. I'm getting us mixed up. I'm losing myself._

He closed his eyes and thought about himself. _I'm Draco Malfoy, only son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. I live at Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire. I'm a Slytherin. I don't have a sister, and I don't play the flute. I am a pureblood and proud of it. I would never mix with scum like Potter or the Weasleys, and I would never – EVER – consider even getting CLOSE to a freak like Lovegood. Much less asking her to _marry_ me…_

With a jerk like a Portkey, a memory engulfed him –

* * *

Dark blonde hair cascaded through his hands, crackling softly with static as he ran the comb deftly through it. "Your turn," he said, quietly so he wouldn't wake everyone else. 

"Truth or dare?" her voice answered.

"Truth."

"What do you want to name our first son?"

"Hmm." He thought for a moment, savoring the surety with which she asked about something which was so far in the future. _Not even married yet, and she wants to talk about our son. Our _first_ son. Because there will be others. _"Not Lucius," he said with certainty, making her clap her hands over her mouth and double over with laughter. "What do you think of John?" he asked once she'd recovered.

"It's very simple. Very strong." She tapped her finger against her mouth, thinking. "A little boring."

"So our first boy will be boring. Every family has a boring one."

She nodded soberly. "Hermione can be boring sometimes."

"If sometimes means ninety-five to ninety-nine percent of the time, then yes, she can," he said dryly, sending her off again. _I love watching her laugh. She doesn't care if anyone else thinks it's funny – if she likes it, she laughs. _"Your turn now," he said when she was finished. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Have you ever regretted this?" He waved his hand around the room where they sat, taking in its padded octagonal floor, the eight carved wooden doors (one in each stone wall), and the six other people, all of whom were asleep or faking it extremely well, lying secure by the sides of their mates, to whom they had sworn their oath a second time and for whom they would wait.

"No," she said simply. "Never."

Looking into her eyes, wide and uncomplicated and the same silver-grey as his own, he believed her. He leaned forward, only to find she had decided to meet him halfway.

"Oops."

Draco rubbed his nose. "Let's try that again, and this time, you go right and I'll go left."

Luna smiled. "All right."

The second attempt was more successful than the first had been.

* * *

Draco jerked himself out of the memory. "No," he said aloud, shakily, discovering that he was sweating. "No. That wasn't me. That's not my memory. I don't want that. I never want that." He frowned. _Where was that, anyway? I've never been there._

**_It's a room in the castle we hang around in a lot,_** Black's voice answered. **_And to tell the truth, I'm just as glad you don't want her. She's _mine.**

_And that means you comb her hair for her?_ Draco sighed. _There's a word for men like you._

_**You don't have to say it, I know it already. And it doesn't matter. She helps me when I need it, and I return the favor. And besides, grooming's one of our usual ways of showing affection. But only in private, of course. People tend to react – well, a lot like you are – if we do things like that in public. **_

_Yes, well, have you ever considered that there might be a reason for that? Like the fact that it's _not normal _to comb your girlfriend's hair for her?_

**_No, of course it's not normal to comb your _girlfriend's _hair. I've never done that._**

_Pardon me? What was I just doing/seeing/living through?_

_**Luna's not my girlfriend. She's my mate.**_

_Oh, ex_cuse_ me,_ Draco sneered. _Your _mate_. Like that makes it so much better. _

_**Not better. Just different. We relate to each other differently, because we're mates, than we would if we were boyfriend and girlfriend. We even think about each other differently. Or at least Harry says he does. I wouldn't know.**_

Draco snorted. _Oh, enlighten me. What does Potter have to do with this?_

_**Well, he's the only one of us with girlfriend experience. That was before his Choosing, obviously. **_

_Obviously. If I knew what a Choosing was, and what it meant – _

"Places!" a voice called from outside the door. "The call is places! Come on, people, let's get this thing moving!"

_**You'd better get going,** _Black said. **_You're not in the first few scenes, but you should be ready anyway._**

Draco felt his stomach lurch. _Where do I go?_

**_I told you. Just relax. It'll happen on its own. Opening night went just fine in real life, so it should go fine in recollection._**

_Opening night? This is the first time you've ever done this?_

_**Well, the first time with an audience. We've been rehearsing for months and in dress rehearsals for a week.**_

_Still._ Draco swallowed hard. _All right. Fine. I'll do it._

_**I think you'll like it.**_

_I think you're out of your mind._

_**Of course I am. You're in it, and there wasn't room for both of us.**_

_Very funny._

_**Thank you.**_

_Shut up._ Draco pressed his lips together and forced himself to calm. Ice. A mountain of ice. Nothing in his mind, nothing in his heart, but ice.

When he opened his eyes, he was already moving.

* * *

"Lot 666, then," a stentorian voice announced on the stage as he arrived at what appeared to be his post backstage. "A chandelier in pieces." 

Draco peered around the curtain, careful not to be seen. The auctioneer, who looked vaguely like a Hufflepuff he knew slightly, was standing center stage. The chandelier, or something else very large and covered with a sheet, sat beside him.

"Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera…" the auctioneer continued. Downstage of him were several people, one in a wheelchair.

_Potter – and he looks terrible. What's going on?_

**_This is the prologue,_** Black explained. **_It's supposed to be fifty years in the future. So he has to look old. Don't worry, he'll be young again in three minutes._**

_Trust me, I wasn't worried._

"Perhaps we may frighten away the ghost of so many years ago," the auctioneer concluded, his voice rising, "with a little illumination… GENTLEMEN?"

The sheet flew off the chandelier, which lit up immediately.

A huge chord blasted through the Great Hall, making the audience – and Draco – gasp.

_This is it. This is the music in my dream. _

**_It's the Overture,_ **Black said as the chandelier rose slowly from the stage to hang in the rafters of the Hall, above the heads of the amazed audience. **_We're traveling back in time fifty years. Back to the time when the story actually happened. _**

Everyone on stage had vanished. The stage itself seemed to be undergoing a transformation. Carvings along the top and sides of the stage were being revealed from under their shroudings of cloth. Set pieces were arriving on stage – Draco saw several students all in black, some of whom he recognized, directing them with their wands.

**_The stage crew. Just as important as the actors, but less appreciated._**

Actors were now running out onto the stage. Draco spotted Lovegood in her rather skimpy costume – Black gave an appreciative whistle – and Ginny Weasley beside her, among eight or ten other girls similarly garbed. An equal number of boys in armor were forming up around them. In front of them was –

_Pansy?_

Draco gawked. It was, indeed, his Slytherin girlfriend. She was wearing something shiny and astounding, and her hair was dyed a violent red and twisted up on the top of her head.

**_Playing the prima donna, Carlotta._** Black snickered. **_Perfect role for her._**

Next to her stood a rather fat boy Draco didn't know. As the Overture ended, the lights came up on them, and they all began to sing.

_**It's a rehearsal for an opera about Hannibal.**_

_Who?_

_**Never mind. Just watch.**_

The old head of the Paris Opera announced that he was leaving, and introduced the new owners of the company – Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom. Madame Giry, the ballet director, was called forward, and proved to be Hermione Granger. _Or is that Granger-Lupin?_

_**Either will do, but the second one's more correct,** _Black said._ **Not to mention legal.**_

The new owners admired the ballet girls, one of whom – Lovegood – was Madame Giry's daughter, and another – Weasley – who was named Christine Die-ay –

_**Daae.**_

_Like I really needed to know how to spell it?_

The owners asked Carlotta to sing for them, something they regretted almost immediately. Luckily, before she got too far into her song, a backdrop fell and almost crushed her. She became enraged at their explanation – "These things happen" – and stormed out, saying, "As long as these things happen, this thing does not happen!" and indicating her throat. The chorus whispered among themselves – it was the Phantom of the Opera, they said, he was the one who had cut the rope holding up the backdrop.

The owners were beside themselves – what would they do for a soprano? Madame Giry revealed that Christine Daae was a soprano, and that she had been taking singing lessons from "a great teacher", but one whose name she did not know. The owners grudgingly agreed to listen to her sing.

The accompaniment to the piece Carlotta had been singing began. It was delicate and somewhat complex, flowing up and down through the intervals smoothly. Then Christine began to sing, and the owners were enraptured. She was hired to take Carlotta's place on the spot.

_The Weasley girl can sing,_ Draco noted a bit grudgingly.

_**She wouldn't have been cast if she couldn't.**_

The Opera's patron, a Viscount, was in the audience that night, and hearing Christine, was reminded of a girl he had played with as a child. He wondered if she could be the same one, and hoped that she remembered him.

_That's really Potter singing?_

_**Nobody else.**_

Draco gritted his teeth and thought it very quietly, at the back of his mind. _He's good._

**_Don't worry, I won't tell anyone you think so._**

_Thanks ever so._

Ginny Weasley's voice went through some astounding acrobatics, then flew to an almost unbelievably high note and hovered there for about five seconds before descending to finish the piece.

_**Get ready,** _Black warned. **_Your first entrance is soon._**

_So what do I have to do?_

_**Scare the daylights out of Christine, enchant and half-seduce her, and carry her away to your domain deep in the bowels of the Opera House.**_

_Fine. Great. And I do this while singing?_

**_This is an opera, or very close to one. You do _everything_ while singing._**

Draco leaned his head against the wall he was next to. _It was a really, really bad idea to mess with that potion, wasn't it._

_**Probably. But you did, and here you are, and you can't get away from it, so you might as well enjoy yourself.**_

Draco sighed. _There's something disturbing about that logic, but I can't put my finger on it…_

"You ready?" asked Potter's voice from beside him.

Draco forced himself to smile, reminding himself that he was playing a part now just as much as onstage. "Yeah. I guess."

"Oh, you're going to be great," Potter said with certainty. "You were fine yesterday at the rehearsal. Just do it like you did it then."

_I wish I could._ "All right. Good luck…"

**_Ah-ah-ah. Don't say that backstage. It's "break a leg"._**

"I mean, break a leg… Harry."

"You too, Fox."

And Potter was gone.

_**You could always call him Wolf, if using his name's going to kill you.**_

_Wolf?_

_**Black Wolf, if you're going to be formal. Wolf for casual use. **_

_Do I even want to know?_

_**Same reason as me. Same reason as everyone, for that matter.**_

_You mean you're _all…

_**Yep. Even Meghan. She's the youngest ever, as far as anyone knows.**_

Draco stared out onto the stage, where Potter was telling Weasley what a wonderful job she'd done.

_Will you go away for a second?_

_**Only a second. You need me here for your part.**_

_I know. I just need a second alone._

_**Fine.**_

Draco shut his eyes and thought his private, secret, never-to-be-repeated-to-anyone thought.

_His life seems like more fun than mine…_

Potter left the room where Weasley was brushing her hair.

**_That's our cue,_** Black said. **_You ready?_**

_No. _

_**Here we go anyway.**_

_How did I know you were going to say that._

_**You must have read my mind.**_

Draco took a deep breath for his first line of song.

* * *

(A/N: No, it's not a one-shot, nor is it abandoned. Your author is merely busy. VERY busy. Darn classes. 

MAndrews: No, I think he's a lonely kid in an "I'm-so-much-better-than-everyone" mask. And he may not even be aware it's a mask anymore.

Dreaming One: As you see, Draco's interest hasn't changed. Only the situations have.

Everyone else (draco's girl, emikae, Aprilise, rose, Mooncheese, Tombadgerlock, JD Phoenix): Thanks for reviewing! Hope you keep reading!)


	3. Awakening

Chapter 3: Awakening

Draco came awake with a gasp, bolting upright. He was in bed in the hospital wing –

_Which one?_

He looked down at himself and gave a shuddering sigh of relief. The pajamas he wore were green, and emblazoned with entwined snakes. Definitely his own world, then. Draco Black wouldn't be caught dead wearing something like this.

_Well, maybe for a joke._

He focused for a moment on his breathing, on slowing it down, and noticed with a faint tinge of uneasiness that he seemed to have retained some of Black's mannerisms from the dream. His posture, for one – Black's body had sat carefully straight and balanced almost all the time, unless he was lounging. Draco preferred to slouch, or drape himself on things; it took less effort. But at the moment, he was sitting upright in the bed, shoulders balanced above his hips, breathing from his belly instead of his chest.

_Breathing like a singer._

He tried to stop that train of thought, but it was as futile as trying to halt the Hogwarts Express without a wand. All his memories from the past night of singing, of music in general, came flooding back.

_I loved it. _He couldn't deny that, no matter how hard he tried. It had answered some desperate need inside him, something he'd been ignoring for so long that its fulfillment now brought him a pleasure almost like pain. The way the notes vibrated through him, the harmonies his voice created with the orchestra or another singer, and the applause of the audience at the end of a song...

_They liked me. Hell, they loved me. I even heard a few people calling for an encore. _

And the story had fascinated him. The deformed genius striving for beauty and light, but trying to get there through darkness and hate... how he had killed and kidnapped to try to find love, and then love found him, and he gave up everything he'd fought for because of it...

_I thought it was cool how he would send her a rose, just one red rose with a long stem, and she'd know it was from him. _

Just as he thought of this, he happened to turn to one side.

On the table beside his bed lay a single long-stemmed crimson rose.

Draco stared at it for a few seconds, forgetting even to breathe.

_Was I wrong? Am I still dreaming?_

But his fingers touched the stem, then the petals, without passing through them. One of the thorns pricked him slightly, though not enough to draw blood. And the scent of the flower was sweet and dark and heady, like an aged wine.

_Who left this?_

Somehow he knew he would find no note, no clue to the person's identity, not even the black ribbon the Phantom had tied around his floral offerings. This was going to remain a mystery, as much of one as where these dreams of his had come from in the first place.

_Or even more. If I wanted to, I could believe that I made it all up, that I hallucinated that other world while some separate personality ran around here terrorizing people, that I thought up the dreams the same way, and that I therefore need to check myself into St. Mungo's immediately. But there's no way I'm hallucinating this..._

_Or am I?_

He was still trying to decide if he was hallucinating the rose, and whether he wanted to be or not, when Madam Pomfrey came around the end of the screen and settled the question. "I see someone's been here while I was gone," she said briskly. "Nice of them to bring you that – let me get you some water for it."

Draco's hand tightened around the stem as the nurse walked away. Then he cursed softly, looking down at the two bleeding punctures on his palm.

_Guess it's real, then..._

Which left him with a very large question, or rather two.

Who in the world could have left it, and why?

_Whoever left it has to have known what I was dreaming. The rose is part of the story, it was on the cover of those programs, it and the mask... _

_But how could anyone know what I was dreaming? _

He'd seen the dream through to the end, and all it had left him with was more questions.

_But maybe now I can get some sleep. _

* * *

Draco put a stasis charm on the rose and kept it in his wardrobe, where the other boys couldn't see it. He had no doubt they'd tease him unmercifully if they found him mooning over a flower. But he felt, superstitiously perhaps, that it was his good-luck charm, and that as long as he had it, the dreams would stay away.

He had reason. Ever since that night in hospital, he hadn't dreamed of the fog and the veiled woman, or of Black and his world, at all. Instead, his dreams were filled with story and song, color and light, and he woke up in the mornings humming the tunes he'd heard and sung during the night.

It wasn't until an episode nearly three weeks later that he found out these new dreams weren't nearly as harmless as they seemed.

"I didn't know you liked Muggle things," said Artemis Moon to him at breakfast one morning, tossing her blond hair contemptuously.

"What?"

"You were humming a Muggle song. I heard a Muggle singing it once, on a street corner. It's about doors or something stupid like that."

Draco's mind supplied the relevant lyrics. _Close every door to me, hide all the world from me..._

"I didn't know it was a Muggle song," he said, thinking fast. "I probably heard it the same place you did. I was just humming because I was thinking about something else."

Artemis sniffed but refrained from further comment.

"Have you heard?" said Daphne Greengrass, leaning over the table. "They're doing a Muggle musical show here, at Hogwarts. The Headmaster thought it would be a good morale booster." She made a face. "Who wants to be in a stupid Muggle thing anyway?"

"What kind of musical show?" asked Draco, trying to sound casual.

"I don't remember. I think it's an opera, though."

"Not _an_ opera," said Blaise Zabini, sitting down beside her. "The Phantom_ of_ the Opera."

Draco dropped his fork. "They're doing that? Here?"

"Yeah. I just heard the Gryffindors talking about it. They're all excited, hoping for parts." Zabini smiled sardonically. "What d'you want to bet the Golden Boy and his friends get all the star roles?"

"Who else would take them?" asked Artemis with a little giggle. "No decent witch or wizard would go on the _stage_. It's vulgar. Music's all right, I suppose, but who wants to watch a load of people cavorting around and playing 'let's pretend' like a bunch of little kids? And who on earth would ever want to _do_ that?"

Draco's mind yanked him backwards to the night he'd spent inside Black's head.

* * *

_**All right, this is the big climactic scene. Everything's been building to this. You have to convince the audience that you, the Phantom, will kill Raoul if Christine doesn't stay with you. If you can't make them believe it, they'll lose interest. Think you're up to it? **_

_No. _

_**Pessimist. Just try it.**_

_I don't even know what I'm supposed to be trying! _

_**Put your mind in a place where she is all you want, everything you want. If you can't have her, then no one else can. And you'll do anything to get her and keep her. Have you ever wanted anything that badly? You don't have to tell me what, just tell me, have you ever wanted anything like that?**_

_Er... yes, actually. _

_**Perfect. Use that. Just think about whatever it was that you wanted when you look at Christine.**_

* * *

To Draco's amazement, it had worked. He'd been able to _feel_ the power he exerted over Christine, Raoul, and the audience. They were his at that moment – he could make them feel anything he wanted them to, and they would believe whatever he told them. The scene was his to do with as he liked.

He'd never experienced anything quite so intoxicating in his life.

_But I can't try out for this play. Everyone would laugh at me. And there's no way I could work with Potter and his gang. Maybe they like Black, but they don't like me, and I don't like them. They're... _

With another slight shiver, he realized he didn't really know any more what they were that he didn't like.

Artemis' word came to mind. _Vulgar._ It meant uncouth, uncivilized, common, and he supposed Potter and his friends were all of that. But with Black's lingering memories in his head, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that maybe a little vulgarity, in that sense of the word, might be a good thing.

_So I can't try out for the play. I can still stay interested. And go see it. Maybe I'll tell Potter he did a good job and make him wonder what I'm up to. _

Draco grinned. This had the potential to be fun.

The talk around the table had turned to other things, so he had no qualms about staying lost in his thoughts while he finished breakfast. It didn't hurt that he was sitting on the correct side of the table to observe the Gryffindors without looking like he was doing much of anything.

_Potter, Weasley, and Granger. They're almost never apart. They go everywhere, do everything together. What would that be like? To have people who did that with you because they wanted to, not because their fathers told them to?_ He cast a critical look down the table at Crabbe and Goyle, both stuffing their faces.

_What would it be like to have friends?_

Of course, if Black's memories could be trusted, he already knew what that would be like. Black had not only friends, but siblings. Including a twin sister, and her identity had simultaneously baffled Draco and scared the pants off him.

_How in Merlin's name did he end up calling Granger-Lupin his twin? She can't be – not physically – I could understand just calling her a sister, because they grew up in the same house, but twin? _

However it had happened, it was, to Black, an accomplished fact. He and Granger-Lupin were never far from each other, and if something happened to one of them, the other knew. They sometimes finished each other's sentences, and Draco seemed to recall something about some form of mind-reading available to them, if they both agreed to it, but the memory was sketchy, and Draco didn't push it. He recalled that Black had walled him off from some things because it would make trouble.

_Of course, how it could, when I'm here and he's there, I have no idea..._

But that wasn't what he was thinking about right now. The girl with far too much information crammed into her frizzy brown head, that was what he was thinking about. Or who. He spent a lot of time thinking about her these days. Every morning when he woke up, and every night before he went to sleep...

_Ye gods – am I in love?_

But as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true. It wasn't every day that a statement appalled him on two separate levels, for two completely different reasons.

_She's a Mudblood!_ clamored his sensible, pureblood self. _Your father would kill you! _

_She's your sister,_ insisted that tiny part of him that had converted itself completely to Black's way of thinking, and which Draco had strenuously tried to deny until he realized it wasn't really doing any harm. _Even if she doesn't know it. Besides, she likes Ron. _

_Weasley,_ Draco corrected himself absently, but then gave in. _All right, Ron. It doesn't hurt to think about him that way. And there are a lot of Weasleys. Not as many around here as there used to be, but still. _

The only other Weasley currently at Hogwarts was sitting just a few seats down from her brother. Draco found his eyes drawn to her. _Ginny. I wonder if she'll play Christine here too? Does she sing? _

For a moment, he worried that he might have escaped being fixated on a Mudblood only to end up with a blood traitor on his mind instead, but a quick examination of his thoughts showed he was wrong. His interest in Ginny Weasley was less even than the brotherly regard with which he reluctantly regarded Granger these days. He just wanted to know if she'd be singing Christine.

_And who are they going to find to play the Phantom? Harry's out, he's too straightforward and too nice. He'll probably be Raoul, like he was there. And I don't think Ron will want a big part like that, even if he had the voice for it. _

He shrugged. _Not going to be me, so not my problem. I wonder if Hermione will play Madame Giry again? And Luna, Meg?_

Ah, now he came to a touchy subject. Lovegood. Loony Lovegood. There she sat at the Ravenclaw table, immersed as usual in her father's dodgy magazine, her wand behind her ear, emitting small puffs of blue smoke.

_Black loves her. He wants to marry her. _

_I don't think I've ever said three words to her. Or if I did, they were probably something like, "Move over, you." _

_Could I... love her? _He bit his lip, staring at her. _And if I did, what would happen? Would she... love me back? _

_What would my parents say? Or hers? _

_Hell, would she even like me? She doesn't know anything about me! _

_Except that I'm a first-class prat, probably, since she's been hanging around with Potter for a year or so now... _

For some reason, it was suddenly terribly important to him that Luna Lovegood think well of him.

_Oh no. No. It can't be. Not already, not this soon, it can't be happening now! _

But it was too late. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, cursing himself for a fool.

_Oh, Malfoy, you bloody idiot, you've really done it now. You went and fell in love with a totally inappropriate girl. No, you didn't even fall – you _threw_ yourself into love with her. And she has no idea you exist. Or if she does, she thinks you're pond scum. _

He let his chin rest in his hands, staring at her. He couldn't decide which of those options was worse.

_It shouldn't matter! It shouldn't matter one way or the other, because I shouldn't care about her, because there is nothing between us! Nothing, and there will never be anything, so I need to stop staring at her right now!_

He could turn his eyes away, Draco discovered. It was harder to turn away his heart. He kept thinking of Lovegood all day, in class, at meals, in the common room, and as he went to bed. He buried his head in his pillow and groaned. _Black, I'm going to find you, and I'm going to kill you very painfully..._

* * *

"The queue starts over there."

"What?"

Black jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "The queue for the people who want to kill me painfully. You'll have to wait your turn. I don't have quite as many as Harry, but there's a fair few who wouldn't mind getting a hold of me."

"There are?"

"Yeah."

"Like who?"

"Well, there's Voldemort for one." Black ignored Draco's shudder. "He's less interested in me than in Harry, but he wouldn't pass up the chance to off me if he got it. My loving Auntie Bella – I think she blames me for what Mum did – and her husband and brother-in-law. Any of the Death Eaters, really. But the first man in line is my wonderful father."

"Oh."

"So, what did I do to you recently that makes you want to kill me?" Black regarded him curiously. "I would have thought you'd be after me before this."

Draco clenched his teeth. "I fell in _love,_" he said resentfully.

Black snickered, and started whistling. Draco listened to the tune, and identified it without meaning to. Then he glared at Black. "Oi!"

"What?"

"It's not like that!"

"Not like what?"

"I'm not just – in love with love! I hate love! I want to get rid of it!"

"Why?"

"Because maybe it's all right for you to be in love with Loony Lovegood, but for me, it's not!"

"Watch your language," warned Black, frowning at him.

"All right, _Luna._ No matter what you call her, I _can't_ be in love with her!"

"Well, I'd say you can, since it's happened."

Draco glared at him again. "Why hasn't anyone killed you yet?"

"Because my whole family is just like me, so we'd have to kill each other until we were all dead. And we don't care for that. So we just pester other people."

"Why haven't _they_ killed you, then?"

"We have good reflexes."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Look, joking aside, this isn't going to work. She's not my House, she's not my year, and she's _weird._ I know, I know you like her or love her or whatever, but you have to admit she's not normal."

"Who wants to be normal?"

"Me! I do! I want to be normal! And falling in love with Luna Lovegood is not normal!"

"You've never been in love before, have you?"

"No. Why?"

"Because if you had, you'd know it's not logical, or normal, or anything like it. That's why people like it, and hate it, and write stories and songs and poetry about it. It's one of the least normal things there is. And yet just about every human being there ever was falls in love at least once in their lives."

"How do you know so much?" Draco realized too late how young and sulky he sounded.

Black shrugged. "I've been in love since I was pretty young, so that's part of it. Watching what Remus and Danger do, and Sirius and Letha, that's another part. And watching Meghan and Neville – they were another pair like me and Luna, they just knew. I don't think they've ever said 'I love you' in so many words, but it's true. And then watching Harry and Ron mess up once or twice..." Black snickered. "That day Ron got the love potion by mistake... Lord, that was priceless."

"The day Ron got a love potion by mistake?" Draco repeated. "Who was it meant for?"

"Harry. You want to hear?"

Draco's pride tried to speak up. He sat on it. "Yeah, I think I do."

"Let's get comfortable, then." Black snapped his fingers, and a room materialized around them, its walls lined with books, large, soft chairs sitting back to back in groups of two or three.

"Your sister must love it in here."

"Oh, she does. That's her place right there." Black indicated an odd-looking wooden thing in the corner. "We call it Neenie's reading tree, because it looks like the tree she sits in back at the Den when she has a new book and she doesn't want to be disturbed."

"How did it get here?"

"It grew."

"It what?"

"Long story. I'll tell you after I tell the one about Ron and the love potion."

"All right." Draco sat down, feeling himself sinking into the chair.

_I'm sinking into more than that..._

And he had the feeling he really ought to mind more than he did, but it felt so good...

* * *

(A/N: No, I haven't died. I've just had a nasty case of writer's block. It wasn't particularly helped by HBP... what the heck? She can't do that! Well, I know, she can, because it's her world, but still... a seventh book that's not at Hogwarts, without any of the structure we've come to expect, and killing off Dumbledore... Humph.

Not that I won't be in line at midnight whenever it comes out. Please remember to review!

Oh yes, and the song Draco Black was whistling was "Falling in Love with Love" from _The Boys from Syracuse,_ or, if you're like me, from the most recent version of Rodgers and Hammerstein's _Cinderella._)


End file.
